


Moment of Weakness

by flootzavut



Series: Stupid Thing [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: AU of season two with better life choices, Alternate Universe, F/M, Season/Series 02, mildly smutty, stupid thing verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:02:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10070585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/pseuds/flootzavut
Summary: "She knows this is a bad idea, knows he's a vampire, but for some reason she can't seem to make herself care..."Buffy has another encounter with Spike in the Bronze.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunalso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/gifts).



> Happy very belated birthday ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> Big thanks to yellowb for beta reading and generally assuring me it was okay!

* * *

**_Moment of Weakness_ **

* * *

 

It's late, way late, and her mom is going to kill her for staying out after midnight, but Buffy can't make herself feel bad about it. She's back in the Bronze, dancing with Spike again, and loving it. She knows this is a bad idea, knows he's a vampire, but for some reason she can't seem to make herself care. His hands slide up under her top, freezing but soft on her skin, and she shivers from something other than the chill of his fingers as they trace invisible lines over her stomach.

There are other people on the dance floor, but they're hazy and indistinct; is that splash of red Willow? Are those sounds on the edge of her hearing familiar voices? She doesn't know, isn't even that curious. All she's truly aware of is the insistent beat of the music and Spike behind her, pressed into her, moving with her, his breath harsh in her ear between murmurs of how beautiful she is and how he's going to make her feel.

(Doesn't he realise vampires don't need to breathe?)

His lips tease her ear and the tender skin behind it, and she lets her head fall back against his shoulder, offering herself up, not even flinching when his mouth brushes against her neck.  _Evil vampire_ , insists the sensible part of her mind,  _don't let him get his teeth near your throat._ It's no good, though. She feels rather than hears his low chuckle, and all she can manage to summon in response is a lazy smile.

He nips his way down to her shoulder, where he bites her - gently, and with his human teeth, but definitely a bite. She should be pissed at him, should spin around in his arms and knee him in the crotch, but instead she melts into him and moans.

He chuckles. "There's a good kitten." He strokes her belly, and she purrs - a real honest to God purr. She didn't know she was capable of making that sound. It actually... doesn't sound quite human. But it feels good. She purrs again, and Spike purrs back, and she giggles.

"Good kitty," he whispers, then nuzzles at the corner of her jaw before burying his face in her hair.

Buffy lets her eyes slip closed and revels in feeling so... appreciated. She's aware, in a distant sort of a way, that a century-old, definitely evil vampire has his hands and his mouth all over her, but it's not scaring her the way it should. She knows full well he's dangerous, and her behaviour is making her totally vulnerable, but the thought just excites her. He's dangerous, but not to her. She feels, well... strangely safe. Which is weird. And she's not completely sure her feet are touching the floor anymore.

And oh, his hands.  _Mmmm_. He sucks gently at the side of her neck, and she amends the statement to include his mouth.

"All the better to eat you with, my dear," he murmurs in her ear, as if he's read her mind. That should sound like a threat coming from him, but it sounds more like a promise - possibly a dirty one. She hasn't a clue what it is he's promising, but she's pretty certain she's gonna like it.

She slides one hand up to touch his cheek, then winds it into his hair. She expects to find it stiff with gel, but it's soft and curling under her fingers. When she peers over her shoulder at him, she finds it's a mass of curls around his face.

She lets her eyes roam over his features. He's... damn, he is so pretty. No vampire should be allowed to look that pretty. No  _man_  should be allowed to look that pretty. It's simply unfair. The cheekbones and the eyelashes and those eyes, softer and deeper and warmer than any vampire's eyes should ever be...

He smirks lazily at her perusal, apparently both amused and pleased at the way she's looking at him. Buffy pouts; if he's going to laugh at her, she should - well... she should probably stake him, though the idea doesn't appeal to her at all right now.

So she pouts. He pouts right back, and now she's staring at his bottom lip, and she should not be having lusty wrong thoughts about the evil vampire. No matter how pretty he is. She forces herself to look away, to keep dancing, though she can't make herself want to escape his grasp.

She can feel the hard length of him pressing into her lower back, and it excites and thrills her to know the effect she's having on him. She remembers this from the Bronze. But then she'd been embarrassed and a little scared; now she feels... empowered. Womanly. She wants more.

As if he's read her mind again, his hands grow bolder, his fingers dancing over the skin of her stomach, then higher and higher to gently cradle her breasts.

She gasps. Oh God, this is so wrong, but it feels so good. He rolls her nipples between his fingers, and she whimpers involuntarily. She twists her head around, reaches up to capture his mouth with hers, and he dives in like a man starved, kissing her hard and deep, kissing her until she's quivering against his hands and lips, until she's floating, until the whole world disappears. She vaguely notices the music has gotten all orchestral, which seems kinda weird for the Bronze but suits this moment perfectly.

She grinds back against his erection, whines when his hands grow rough against her nipples, rubbing and pinching and twisting, and every touch is sweet torture, the sensations rippling over her skin like electricity and making something clench and shiver between her legs.

The kiss finally breaks. Buffy struggles to catch her breath, swallowing and gasping and a little embarrassed.  _Spike is gonna have a field day_. When she opens her eyes, she expects to find him laughing at her, or being smug he's been able to leave her so undone, but instead he just gazes at her wonderingly, eyes still soft. Watching those eyes, the expression in them, it's hard to believe he's just a soulless monster.

"You want more, sweet girl?" he asks, his voice a low, seductive rumble.

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, so she nods instead.

He smiles slowly, leans down to leave another kiss on her mouth, though this one is gentle, almost chaste. "There's a good girl. Let Spike take care of you."

One hand slides back down over her belly, slow, slow, but so sure and certain. He studies her curiously, seems fascinated by the effect he's having, and she knows in her bones she could tell him to stop if she didn't want this but oh, she  _wants_.

He grins as he pops the button on her fly and she doesn't protest, grins wider when she lets him tug the zip down, then his expression turns to something closer to awe as his fingers sneak down inside her underwear.

"Bloody hell. The way you feel... Such a beautiful delicate flower," he whispers, so gently and quietly she can barely hear him over the music. "All hot and wet for me. So hot. Opening up and letting me in... amazing."

She watches his face as he digs into her panties, sees how eager he is. She's unable to look away or even shut her eyes as his fingers sweep with surprising gentleness through her slick folds, so she sees his delight and surprise and want, unfiltered and raw. His other arm tightens around her, pulling her back tight against his chest - supporting, protecting, possessing. She clutches at him, trying to stay upright, desperate to stay close. His desire for her is both frightening and tempting.

Her blood is sprinting through her veins, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, and she feels like she can't get enough air. Down between her legs everything's melting and giving in, and she wants to be embarrassed at how easily he's playing her.  _Evil vampire_ , she tells herself again, without conviction. Her body doesn't seem to care, shivering and dissolving into nothing but sensation.

"Beautiful," he murmurs. With a soft crunch, his face shifts, his demon coming to the fore, and Buffy reaches up to trail her fingers over the bumps and ridges. She should be scared, horrified, repulsed. A monster, an honest to pete nightmare, is making her feel like she's flying... and she isn't stopping him.

He purrs again as she touches him, a contented cat under her hand, and when she slides it up into his hair and teases at the curls there, he closes his eyes and nuzzles against it, adding to the illusion. It's... sort of cute. Which is about a million kinds of wrong and she can't believe she just had that thought in her head. He's a vampire, a  _vampire_ , he can't be cute!

Then he starts purring louder, and really, it's not fair.

She shivers as the vibration rumbles through her, as he gently slides one finger inside her. It's alien and confusing and delicious, and heat flashes down through her like licking flames on her skin. She turns away, confused, embarrassed, and desperately aroused.

His thumb traces wide circles around her clit, and she squeezes down on him, desperate for sensation. Why is this so different from when she's doing it for herself? Why do his cold fingers feel so good?

"Bloody hell, love." He chuckles against her ear. "That's it. Oh yeah. Harder." He moans. "God." Another finger, and his cock grinding more insistently into her back. "So hot and wet and strong. How you must feel..."

She whimpers when his thumb spirals in tighter, teasing, tantalising, making her shiver and shake. Closer, closer, until he's making tiny circles right on her clit, and her spine has been replaced with a live wire.

Then the fingers inside her do something unexpected and she gasps as her climax rips through her, pleasure so intense it's almost pain. Her knees buckle, and it's only Spike's firm grip that keeps her from collapsing into a heap right there in the middle of the dance floor. Every muscle in her body has turned to jelly, and her breath comes in heaving gasps as he teases little aftershocks of pleasure out of her.

When she finally levers her eyes open and cranes her head back, he's still watching her. His game face has dropped away, and his eyes look too deeply blue to be real. She blinks up at him. "Wow."

Spike smirks, then he's sucking his fingers clean. Her mouth goes dry as she watches, and her insides seem to do some complex sort of backflip. She lets her head fall forward, so she can recover her bearings and so she can no longer see his face, because his expression is just too much for her to deal with.

He wraps both arms fully around her and mouths at the back of her neck, murmuring something too softly for her to catch. It's all so overwhelming and confusing. He's a vampire, and vampires can't be tender and kind, can't be generous, can't be loving and giving, not without a soul; she knows this. She  _knows_  it. This can't be real, he must want something from her, there must be a catch, it's just that she can't see it right now because she's too busy seeing stars.

Unable to logic her way around the impossibility of what she's just experienced, she gives in and continues to dance instead. It occurs to her suddenly that Spike just made her come in the middle of the Bronze, and wow, so completely inappropriate. But when she glances around, the others in the club are no more real or clear than they were before, and no one seems to realise that Spike's still feeling her up.

For quite some time, they move and sway and grind together, flowing with one another, and Spike continues to whisper sweet nothings over her skin. She has no idea how long it lasts, and she's pretty much stopped caring.

Then, out of nowhere, the spidey senses that have grown used to Spike's presence at her back intensify, almost like burning. She opens her eyes and looks for the source.

Someone is approaching, and whoever it is is the first solid person Buffy has seen in this place all night. The figure is dressed head to toe in black, face and hands stark white against the midnight clothing. It's a woman, Buffy realises - or rather, she is a vampire. The air seems thicker and the darkness darker, and Buffy isn't sure if it's the vampire's doing or if it's her imagination trying to make sense of what she doesn't understand. The woman moves like a cat, walking so smoothly and gracefully over the floor she seems to be gliding, and Buffy feels small and inelegant by comparison. She's grateful when Spike's arms wrap firmly around her, staking a claim.

As the woman draws closer, Buffy sees that her eyes are large and blue and mesmerising. Somewhere deep in her mind, Buffy can hear alarm bells, warning her this woman - this vampire - is dangerous, but she can't seem to look away, never mind run away.

"Not nice to steal, dearie," says the woman, who Buffy instinctively knows must be Drusilla. What was it Giles called her? Spike's sometime paramour, whatever one of those is. In any case, she's obviously unhappy to find Spike with his hands in another woman's clothing. "Tit for tat, steal, steal, finders keepers..."

She holds up her hand, which has a chain wrapped around it. Buffy follows the links down to the floor, then gasps when she sees Angel on his hands and knees, shackled like a dangerous animal.

"Angel!" There's a sudden stab of guilt. She loves Angel, doesn't she? She's almost sure. So why hasn't she even thought about him this entire time?

Angel doesn't even notice her, too busy touching Drusilla's legs and feet and nuzzling into her calves, and when he looks up at Drusilla, he wears a lascivious smirk Buffy has never seen on his face before.

Really, Buffy should be more pissed off that he's ignoring her, but she can't summon the fire. "What have you done to him?" she asks, looking back up at Drusilla.

Drusilla blinks slowly, and her eyes are too deep and too expressive to belong to a monster, just like Spike's. "He made me, so I remade him," she says simply, as if that explains everything.

"Oh," says Buffy, as if she understands.

Drusilla moves closer. Buffy can hear the chain clank as Angel follows, but she can't look away. The way Drusilla moves is like poetry, like art. She is hauntingly beautiful and truly terrifying.

Buffy feels her breathing quicken. Spike's hands wrap around her tighter, his fingers digging into her skin, and she can't decide if he's holding her for Drusilla or trying to protect her. He snarls right next to her ear, and Drusilla's eyes widen, but it doesn't slow her down. She comes even closer, until her face is only a few inches away, and Buffy can hardly breathe.

"I'll find your twin and drain her dry and leave you guilty."

Buffy is pretty sure she wouldn't know how to answer that even if she could speak. Drusilla leans in closer, as if she wants a kiss, then presses her cheek against Buffy's, and when she speaks again her lips caress Buffy's ear. "You will burn my beautiful boy and you'll be sorry. One of two, one of many. Fire in a gemstone."

For a few moments longer, Drusilla's cool skin lingers against hers, and Drusilla makes a sound that's almost sexual. Buffy breathes a sigh of relief when Drusilla draws back; this is all too weird and too confusing.

Then, without warning, Drusilla flicks her nail across Buffy's throat, and a flood of heat spills out down Buffy's top.  _Blood_ , she realises.  _My blood_. Drusilla turned from tender to violent so quickly, Buffy can't process it. Somehow she can't summon up any kind of shock or horror, even when she looks down and sees it pouring down her body, puddling on the floor around her.  _Damn, I really liked those boots_.

There's another growl behind her, possessive, greedy arms gathering her close, a rough voice in her ear. "Mine!  _Mine_!" Then a sharp pain in her neck and a pulling sensation as Spike takes her blood, a sensation that gives way to a heady floating. She wonders if this is what it's like to have an out of body experience. She's being held even more tightly - she expects to hear the crack of breaking bone. It's a riot of sensation, of colour and feeling and intensity, pain and pleasure twisted so tightly together she can't separate them.

Too much, it's all too much, she's going to tear apart inside, then the ache becomes a flush of bliss bursting from between her legs, and she screams, her body shuddering, and she's falling, falling, landing with a soft thump in...

In bed?

She blinked her eyes open, shook her head to try and clear it. A cautious look confirmed that yes, she was at home, in bed, where she was supposed to be. Though her heart was still thumping like she'd run a marathon, or maybe like she really had (oh, God) come to pieces all over Spike's fingers. (Twice.) She shivered. That was... intense? Yeah, she was gonna go with intense.

Part of her had known it was a dream from the start, but she'd got so caught up in it... and she'd been with Spike, behaving like a total skank, and it had been... her cheeks flushed hot, mortified and aroused. She'd never felt like that. She'd never known it was possible to feel like... mmmm. She-

Oh God, she had her hand in her pyjamas. Had she been touching herself in her sleep? Getting off on dreams of Spike touching her? She thought back to his touch, and her fingers twitched involuntarily; her body reacted, a spark of pleasure rushing through her from her sensitised clit, and she blushed even harder.

Ignoring how it felt like she was losing something, she slid her hand out from between her legs and wiped it carefully on the bedclothes, trying not to think about it too closely. She sat up in bed, wrapped herself tightly in her comforter, and looked around the bedroom, glaring into all the shadows.

She wasn't sure what she was afraid of - witnesses? Or maybe that Spike had somehow gotten into her house as well as into her dream? Because there had to be some kind of a reason... But there was no one there.

She scrubbed her face with her hands. It had been so, so vivid. Almost like a Slayer dream, which was just... wiggy. At least she could be sure this dream wasn't prophetic. No way was she ever gonna dirty dance with an evil vampire, let alone allow him to do... that. And the whole Angel in chains at Drusilla's feet thing? Like Angel could ever go back to being evil, after everything he'd seen and done since he got his soul back. He'd changed, he was good now, and that wouldn't just go away.

With a weary sigh, she let herself fall back down onto her bed and screwed her eyes shut. She felt like she hadn't got any sleep at all, and she had to be awake again in - she looked at the time and groaned - four hours! Ugh.

Maybe she'd get lucky and dream about Angel instead. She tried to get excited about the idea. Okay, maybe she just wouldn't dream, and when she woke up next she'd be a lot less confused.

She pulled her covers up to her nose and snuggled into her pillow. Things always seemed confusing at night. Everything would be back to normal in the morning.

* * *

Across town, Spike stroked his cock in his sleep, faster and harder until he was spent, then turned over, a beatific smile on his face.

"Not nice to steal," Dru whispered. "Not nice, dearie."

_~ fin ~_

**Author's Note:**

> This was my compromise between 'Buffy is only sixteen, don't go replacing one creepy relationship with another' and my muse going 'but but but Spuffy smut!' I hope it works...


End file.
